


Controlled Chaos

by ratedgrandr



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, seriously, stupid cute boys proclaiming their love, thats all - Freeform, this is legit really stupid and cheesy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 11:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratedgrandr/pseuds/ratedgrandr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because Grantaire will always be windswept and disheveled, a type of Chaos that Combeferre can never - and never wants to - control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Controlled Chaos

**Author's Note:**

> As you may or may not know, it's Combetaire week on tumblr! And Combetaire is my guilty pleasure ship lykwhoa! So here. Have this fluffly piece of shit I wrote at two am.

Grantaire isn't really sure when they became official; honestly, it's a blurry line between dating casually and R promising not to sleep with anyone else as long as Combeferre doesn't. He feels pathetic as they lay in bed, staring awkwardly at the ceiling and still panting from sex. Grantaire's hopes of pulling on his boxers were lost when he realizes they are still in the living room, and he can feel Combeferre's eyes on him as he sits up and slowly stands to retrieve said article of clothing.

When he returns into Combeferre's bedroom, the man is staring at him curiously, much as he watches the moths that flutter nimbly around the light outside of his apartment when they come home from a date. It's a gaze of fascination and reverence, and Grantaire is sure he doesn't deserve such a look, not from someone like Combeferre.

"Did you mean it?" The scholar asks softly, his voice something between a croak and a hum, cracked from soft moans of passion and words exclaimed in the throes of passion.

Grantaire nervously rubs his neck and looks down at his feet, wishing he had some form of distraction - a cigarette, a bottle of beer, anything really - but he's left feeling exposed and transparent, as if Combeferre can read everything he's thinking. He wants to curl up in the man's arms once more but he feels ashamed of what he's managed to huff out in the middle of sex. Maybe it's because it's the first time Grantaire has ever said those three words and meant them. Maybe it's because he had thought it through, planned out exactly how he would say it… and in the middle of a good fucking hadn't been the perfect way he'd planned. He feels so shamed, so… wronged out of his happy ending, and he just wants to melt into the floor, dissolve into a puddle so that Combeferre will stop looking at him with a mix of pity and what he can only label as fondness.

Finally, Grantaire manages a sigh and a shrug of his thin shoulders. "Of course I meant it," he mumbles, his words low, hardly a whisper to his toes which his eyes have become permanently fixed upon. He can't look Combeferre in the eye, or look at him in general, because that would break the illusion that maybe, just maybe, his boyfriend - at least he figures they are boyfriends now - loves him back. But as soon as he looks up, sees that hint of apology upon Combeferre's face… that's when his world will shatter. And Grantaire isn't quite ready for that.

"Look, maybe I should go, I --" it's then that he feels cool fingers curl around his wrist, tug him towards the bed, towards Ferre's wide, warm embrace. He looks up tentatively, through thick eyelashes, and his heart soars when he sees the small sort of smile upon the other's face.

Combeferre thinks Grantaire is being ridiculous, and tells him as much through a deep kiss, one that flushes both of their cheeks, leaves their heads reeling and searching for more. It's the kiss that brings Grantaire willingly back into bed, and he curls up in Combeferre's arms, nuzzling himself into the man's embrace. "I had a whole speech planned," Grantaire sighs around a yawn.

“Of course you did,” Combeferre laughs as he draw the cynic in closer against his chest. He presses lazy kisses to the warm, flushed skin of Grantaire’s jaw, following the stubble down his boyfriend’s neck to lazily trace his lips over Grantaire’s clavicles. “And how did that speech go, pray tell?” Combeferre’s tone is light, teasing, easy, just like the rest of their relationship is.

With Combeferre, everything is second nature. Grantaire never questions his words or actions, he lives for himself because he knows the philosopher will love him no matter what idiotic thing he does. Combeferre will always be waiting for him to come home with a warm mug of tea and a withering glance that changes into one of fondness once he hears about his boyfriend’s day full of adventures, if he wasn’t right along side him for everything. He’s a stablizer, a shock absorber, and Grantaire’s everything. He doesn’t remember falling in love with Combeferre, but he knows that he’s been sucked in, and will never fall out.

Grantaire simply shrugs. “Doesn’t matter now,” he mumbles into the warm skin of Combeferre’s neck. Ferre can feel his shallow breaths against his skin, can hear the pulse of the other’s blood racing through him, and he realizes just how immersed in this relationship he truly is. What started out as a fling and a release of tension has turned into a soft, kind, warm kind of love. And he never wants to let it go. “All that matters… is that you know. That I love you.” Grantaire’s yawn is apparent as he travels further from consciousness and closer to the world of dreams, and Combeferre places soft kisses along his jawline.

“G’night, Ferre,” R hums contentedly as his fingers curl into fists in the front of Combeferre’s shirt.

The man can’t help but smile as his lips graze across Grantaire’s cheekbone. “One thing, before you fall asleep, Grantaire.” The cynic works to blink his eyes open, looking skeptically towards his bedmate. “I love you, too,” Combeferre hums, a contented grin on his lips as Grantaire’s eyes fall shut and his lips stay turned up in a beautiful smile.


End file.
